


Recruitment

by SeaSpectre160



Series: Guardianship [1]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Gen, NEST Orgins, Scorponok is creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2235951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeaSpectre160/pseuds/SeaSpectre160
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He signed on to shoot things. Nobody told him that giant robots would be involved. The beginnings of NEST from the point of view of a new recruit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recruitment

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I don't own Transformers. I do, however, own all the new recruits.

It was common knowledge that Captain James Westworth was the best shot in his unit. Every time he was transferred to a new base, he made quite a bit of cash in bets at the firing range. Most of the men were doubtful that the kid could make some of the shots he claimed to, and he was more than happy to prove them wrong, especially if they were willing to put their money where their mouths were. He could hit nearly any target at distances thought to be impossible, and he could calculate the exact arc of his bullet according to the wind. He’d soon been given the nickname ‘Hawk’ by one sergeant who was a fan of The Avengers comics, after the master marksman Hawkeye.

Westworth didn’t care much for comic books, but he and the sergeant, Marcus Knight, became good friends within a week of living on the same base. He wound up getting transferred out to a new one a couple months later, but they still kept in touch.

James came from the middle of nowhere in the Idaho wilderness, and was the fourth of five siblings, so by age 29, he was fully capable of taking care of himself both in the field (especially in forested terrain) and on base sharing a bunkhouse with a dozen other men, some of whom were older and bigger than he was.

He was serving in Afghanistan when he got the offer to join the elite military division known only by its mysterious acronym: NEST. No one knew what they did, only that it was newly formed in response to the Soccent base attack and the mysterious happenings at Mission City, and that the general public wasn’t even supposed to know of its existence. Surprised and flattered, he quickly agreed to the transfer, and soon he was shipped off to Diego Garcia, in the middle of the Indian Ocean.

Upon arrival, Westworth got another pleasant surprise: Sgt. Knight was among the other recruits. “Hey, Hawk!” he’d yelled across the tarmac upon disembarking. Westworth grinned and waved at his old friend. Knight jogged over, and they exchanged a hug – a manly one, of course. Knight still looked the same as he’d last seen him: bulging muscles, a blond buzz-cut, and hands that seemed to be permanently stained with grease. “Look what the cat dragged in, huh? Never thought I’d see your ugly mug ‘round here!”

“And what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were just mechanic-guy.”

Knight just grinned. “Hey, I’ll have you know that we grease monkeys are extremely vital to any unit. C’mon, I’ll show you where to put your stuff, then we have to get ready for some sort of test.”

Westworth wiped his brow. “Is it too much to hope for some air-conditioning?”

* * *

Westworth groaned softly, trying not to be overheard by the officers in charge. He shifted his pack slightly so that whatever was in it wasn’t poking the small of his back. One soldier was already being chewed out for complaining. Beside him, Knight was sweating buckets, and they hadn’t even started yet.

All one hundred and twenty recruits were gathered together out in the hot sun, sporting heavy backpacks that they were forbidden to open, but that Westworth speculated contained rocks. Not too far away was a basic obstacle course; a wall to climb over, a wide ditch spanned by two ropes anchored firmly on either side, and a mud pit that had a rope net propped less than a foot over it and was currently being rehydrated courtesy of one officer with a hose.

A big monster of a black pickup truck roared up and parked by the starting point, and three men got out.

The driver’s uniform, revealed his rank to be that of a Major, thus making him Westworth’s superior. The man coming out of the passenger side door was a well-built black man, apparently an Air Force Master Sergeant, and from the back came a wiry redheaded man wearing a British military uniform. All three paused to talk amongst themselves before approaching the recruits.

The major spoke up first. “Welcome to Diego Garcia. I am Major William Lennox, and I’m the American commanding officer on this island. Here I have with me Master Sgt. Robert Epps of the US Air Force and Agent Graham, representing our friends in the British Special Air Service. Their recruits will be coming in next week, but for now, it’s your turn to try and prove yourselves. Every one of you here has been offered this posting because you are damn good at whatever it is you do, but I will tell you right now that that means absolutely nothing if you fail to meet certain other standards. This is, in fact, one of the more unusual military units in the world, if not _the_ most unusual. What makes us so different? Well, you’re going to have to earn the right to find out. Now, Agent Graham is going to call you up in teams of five to run this course. You will not be judged on individual performance, but as a group, so don’t let your teammates fall behind.”

Agent Graham cleared his throat and read off the first five names, and they did the course in a little under four minutes. Westworth could already hear a couple of the others talking quietly amongst themselves, sizing each other up and trying to figure out who they should be hoping to have on their team. Knight was part of the tenth team called, and he slowed them down when his foot got caught in the net over the mud pit, and his teammates had to stop and help him get untangled.

Westworth was starting to get a little restless, and he almost missed his name for the seventeenth team. His group consisted of a tall-ish, well-built Asian guy (Katsurō Shirakawa), an athletic blonde woman (Amanda Finn), and two big white guys, one with black hair (John Richards) and one sandy brown (William Chase).

Richards nodded politely enough, but Chase had his eyes focused on Finn. He sidled over to her and whispered, just barely loud enough for Westworth to hear: “Don’t worry, babe, just stick with me, and I’ll get you through the course. Private Billy Chase, pleasure to meet you.”

Finn gave him an ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ look and rolled her eyes. “I can get myself through just fine.”

A sharp whistle blast was their starting horn, and they took off. Westworth gratefully took Finn’s hand and accepted her help over the wall. He got over the ditch with ease, and waited for the rest of his team to make it over before they all dashed towards the mud pit. He grimaced as he got mud up his nose, but didn’t complain. Chase nearly mowed him down from behind, and groaned in frustration when Shirakawa slowed for just a second. “C’mon, Jap, you’re slowing us down!”

They made it out from underneath, Westworth and Chase pausing to help Richards out, and did the final sprint to the finish line. Chase was grumbling about women and immigrants slowing down their time, something that Wesworth frowned at. Because a) they had set a decent time, b) what time they’d lost hadn’t been totally Finn and Shirakawa’s fault, and c) picking on them because they were a woman and a non-white was just wrong in his book.

Chase had been out of their hearing range, but Major Lennox and Sgt. Epps paused in their quiet discussion next to the pickup and gave him a displeased look when his back was turned. Westworth wondered if they somehow knew what he’d said. He couldn’t see how, as the truck had been making strange noises, the engine growling as Chase muttered.

* * *

There were a couple dozen men in the briefing room when Westworth and Knight arrived. Everyone who passed the obstacle course test – only fifteen had been eliminated, with Chase being one of them – would eventually get briefed, but for some reason, it would be in groups of twenty. Something about panic and mob mentality. Westworth snorted inwardly at this. These men (and women) were supposed to be the best of the best. What could possibly cause a panic?

He also wondered why he and Finn, also in his and Knight’s group of twenty, hadn’t been eliminated if they were being judged by team.

Soon enough, Major Lennox stood up at the front of the room, and everyone snapped to attention. He swept a gaze over the room before nodding. “At ease.” Everyone sat down in the chairs provided. Some brought out notebooks and pens. Westworth cursed himself for not thinking of bringing one. “Congratulations, recruits, on getting past the first test. Some of you may notice that some of your teammates were rejected and you were not, even though I told you that you would be evaluated as a team. This is because I lied, partially. I simply don’t have time for those who aren’t team players, or who can’t be bothered to treat their fellow humans equally. Now, everything I’m about to tell you is _beyond_ top-secret. The _moment_ you think you can’t handle this, you get up and you leave, and you will then sign your life away in paperwork that basically boils down to you never seeing the light of day if _any_ of this information is betrayed. So the earlier you bug off – if you do, that is – the better.”

Westworth got a funny feeling about this, one that was part nausea and part intrigue. Just how big of a deal was this gig?

When nobody got up and left right there, Major Lennox continued. “Good. Now, I’m sure you’ve been told that this unit was formed in response to a recent event. It was two, actually, but they are directly connected to each other, and since I was involved in both, they asked me and my boys to head this operation up. I’m talking about Qatar and Mission City.” He nodded to Sgt. Epps, who was sitting behind him. The man nodded back and tapped a few keys on an open laptop.

A projector in the ceiling whirred to life, and an image of a helicopter appeared on the wall behind the Major. “This chopper was shot down in Afghanistan. So when it showed up at Soccent base three months later, we were instantly suspicious. Of course, the chopper releasing a signal that scrambled our communications wasn’t too encouraging, either. Nearly every man present had a weapon trained on it, but that, frankly, was about as useful as toy water pistols and NERF dart guns.”

A couple people snickered at the joke, but just the bare few, and they quickly fell silent. Maybe it was the way Lennox had said it with a dead serious look on his face. He wasn’t joking at all. So that meant, what? The men on the fake chopper had some super-high-tech battle armour, or something?

“The enemy then proceeded to tear its way to the central hard drive, where it began downloading government data, breaking through firewalls like tissue paper and killing soldiers by the dozen with every move. Those of you who have a lick of technical know-how know perfectly well that such hacking maneuvers are impossible, at least for humans. And here’s the best part: there were only two hostiles involved in the attack, and one hadn’t even shown its face yet.”

He paused to let it sink in. Westworth was trying, but he couldn’t process what he was being told. How could two men, he didn’t care how good they were, accomplish something like that?

“If you’re wondering how two people could cause that kind of devastation with such ease, perhaps some footage caught by our own Sgt. Epps will shed some light.” He turned to the other man, who got a wicked grin on his face and hit a few more keys.

Now, Westworth wasn’t the kind to jump at horror movies, but he almost fell out of his chair when the snarling, red-eyed… thing appeared on the screen. The clattering of metal chairs indicated that a couple soldiers hadn’t been quite as graceful. As he got over the shock, he was aware of the explosions, alarms, and screams in the background of the video that had been shot with a night-vision setting and by someone with an extremely shaky hand. Of course, given how close the monster was, he couldn’t blame the guy.

The video froze, capturing the monster in mid-snarl. Major Lennox waited a moment for the embarrassed, fallen-over soldiers to get their asses up off the floor before he continued. “That, ladies and gentlemen, was Blackout. He and his partner Scorponok are – or were, in Blackout’s case – just two members of a race of mechanical alien beings from a planet called Cybertron. Yes, you heard me correctly; the attack on our base was conducted by a pair of alien robots. Sgt. Epps, myself, and less than a dozen soldiers were the only survivors of the initial assault, along with a young local boy who led us to his village, where Scorponok accosted us and killed two more of my men and half a dozen civilians. We managed to call in the Air Force on a resident’s cell phone, and discovered that sabot rounds were pretty much the only thing that could pierce their armor.” He nodded again to Epps, who tapped a few keys on the laptop. The screencap of the robot, Blackout, was replaced by an aerial video of what looked like a metallic scorpion freaking out by some rocks, until you realised that the rubble around it consisted of multiple buildings, and judging by the size of the people running around and shooting at it, the bug was at least twenty feet long! Westworth suppressed a shiver; he didn’t like scorpions.

As he watched, a rain of missile-fire assaulted the Arachnid from Hell, or Cyber-whatever, and forced it to burrow underground, leaving the blown-off end of its stinger behind. When the video stopped, Major Lennox looked over all of them. Westworth glanced around, as well, and saw that quite a few soldiers had turned interesting colours, mostly ranging from chalk white to a lovely shade of green. One large man near the back was fidgeting in his seat like he was about to make a break for the door.

“If you feel like you can’t handle this, now would be a good time to leave,” the major spoke softly.

A young private stood, shaking and shame-faced at the same time, and quickly walked towards the door, like he was fighting to keep from sprinting. The big nervous guy Westworth had noticed actually did run out.

Nobody else moved. Major Lennox seemed pleased at this.

“Now, a little history. Cybertron has existed for billions of years. The Cybertronians on average are about twenty feet tall, but I know for a fact they can get up to at least twice that. They also live incredibly long. Now, just to be clear, these guys are _not_ just machines.” The tone with which he spoke the last statement gave the impression that anyone who disagreed was liable to get a fist to the face, or something. “They have minds of their own, sparks, which are the equivalent of the human heart in both the literal and figurative sense, even their own version of blood. They think, they feel, and they can make their own choices. Artificial intelligence has _nothing_ to do with the way their minds work; they are capable of being total psychopaths or the most honorable beings in the universe, much like us humans.

“Thousands of years ago, Cybertron erupted into war between two factions: the Autobots and the Decepticons. The Decepticons’ ranks are made up of mechs that tend more towards the ‘psychopath’ end of the scale.”

At this, Epps snorted and muttered: “‘Tend towards’ psychopathy?”

Major Lennox didn’t take offense to this interruption from his subordinate, instead tilting his head and shrugging in agreement. “Okay, so most of them are total psychopaths, or worse. They crave power and control, and they won’t even flinch at the idea of killing their own kind to get it. We humans are even less to them, squishy organic insects that don’t even deserve to exist. The Autobots, on the other hand, believe that all sentient beings have the right to life and freedom. They don’t fight for power, they fight so that the Decepticons won’t take over the universe and destroy everything they feel like destroying. They are fighting so that life-forms like us have a chance to survive.”

The respect in the man’s tone was so obvious, you would have to be deaf to not hear it. Westworth wondered if he would get a chance to meet these guys, then he shook his head, knowing that was about as likely as Knight voluntarily walking around in a frilly pink fairy princess costume. He managed to suppress the snort the image brought up, not wanting to seem disrespectful about the topic they were discussing. God knew _that_ wouldn’t go over well _at all_.

“Now, about twelve thousand ago, the Autobots had no choice but to jettison a very powerful and very valuable object called the All-Spark off of Cybertron to keep the ‘Cons from getting their claws on it. By some stroke of fate, it landed here, on Earth. Both factions tracked it here, because it had the power to restore their home planet, which is pretty much uninhabitable now. Blackout and Scorponok were looking for information that would help find it when they attacked Soccent, and when the hardlines were cut, one of their associates infiltrated and hacked Air Force One. At the same time, an Autobot scout located a descendant of the explorer who’d discovered the Decepticon leader crashed in the Arctic, and who had information on where the US government had found the Cube, as the All-Spark was also called. He contacted the Autobot leader and three others, since most of their forces are still scattered across the galaxies.”

At this point, Finn raised her hand as though she were in a classroom. “How could these aliens, as big as they are, get around Earth without being spotted?” she asked once she was acknowledged.

“All Cybertronians have the capability of scanning any form of vehicle and, if it matches their mass well enough, disguise themselves as such. Blackout attacked Soccent in the form of a US military helicopter, remember? Other ‘Cons have been known to be disguised as a tank, a police cruiser, and a fighter jet. They’re even capable of producing holograms that make it look a human is actually driving them. These guys are incredibly good at hiding in plain sight.

“Back to the story. When the rest of our team landed back on American soil, we were taken to the facility where the Cube and the Decepticon leader were being kept on ice. The explorer’s descendant and a friend who’d also made contact with the Autobots were brought in as well, though not exactly of their own free will, as the government wasn’t exactly aware that not all Cybertronians were out to kill us. We all compared notes, and the boy – and I say boy because this descendant is still a minor – explained the war to us.

“Then the Decepticons chose to attack, and they freed their leader from cryo-stasis, while we brought the Cube into Mission City to have it extracted to a second location. We met up with the Autobot forces there, and it’s damn lucky we did, because the Decepticons found us and there is no way we would have survived without them. In the end, the All-Spark was destroyed, and hundreds of humans, mostly civilians, were killed. Relatively speaking, though, the battle was considered a victory on our part. Of the six Decepticons we went up against, four were killed, including their leader. The Autobot unit lost their second-in-command, and their scout still hasn’t recovered from having his legs blown off shielding us humans.” He spoke about these casualties as if the good robot who’d died, and the one who’d lost his legs, were his own men. The deep respect he clearly held for them made much more sense now; these guys had fought and died in battle beside him.

You could hear a pin drop; the room was so silent. A few soldiers bowed their heads in respect for the fallen alien warrior, Westworth himself among them.

“Even with the All-Spark gone, the Decepticons have a lot of reasons to want to exterminate us all,” Major Lennox continued after a while, “Not only are we squishy insects under their feet, we’re squishy insects who dared to stand against them. It was humans who held the Decepticon leader prisoner for decades, and a human who destroyed the All-Spark, their precious prize. As unreal as it is, Earth has become the new front line for this war, and as we speak, more Cybers – of _both_ factions – are on their way here to support their respective sides. Since we humans aren’t just going to sit and watch while a war is fought on our home turf, the US and the UK have aligned themselves with the Autobots, and many other countries are on their way to doing the same. Hence, this new division. We are going to be fighting in this war alongside the Autobots, and hopefully we’re going to be the chip that tips the scales in the good guys’ favour. Anyone not up to it, this is your last chance to leave."

For a second, nobody moved. Then one man stood up. “Where do I sign up, sir?” he asked in all seriousness. Just looking around, it was obvious that everyone else felt the same way. They’d all been picked because they were the best at what they did, and because they were no cowards. There was no way in hell that Westworth was going to sit back and let some psycho alien robots trash his home.

Lennox smiled proudly at the soldier who’d stood up. “Right outside that door. Just sign your names on a few papers, and you will officially be part of the NEST initiative. You’ll be assigned a bunk, and tomorrow will be the guided tour of the base, where you’ll be introduced to your newest teammates. Dismissed.”

Westworth turned to Knight as they all got up to leave. “Giant mechanical beings, huh? Who’d’ve thought they existed in real life?”

Knight looked ecstatic. “Their workings must be far more complex than anything man-made. What I wouldn’t give to work on one of those…”

“You do realize that that would probably be their equivalent of medical treatment, right? They won’t have to worry about those Decepticons killing them if your botched work does it first.”

Knight frowned. “Who said I’d screw up on a job like that?”

“You said it yourself: they’re probably more advanced than anything you’ve ever worked on. That’s like having an eight-year old trying to put together a super-computer.” Knight opened his mouth, probably to argue, then closed it and grimaced in acknowledgement.

They were among the last to exit the briefing room. Another twenty new recruits waited outside, including Richards and a burly guy from Knight’s obstacle course team, and Westworth noted a young soldier who already looked nervous. He bet the kid would bolt when the Blackout video was shown, if not when Major Lennox gave the first offer to leave.

Knight apparently noticed him as well. “I’d bet he’s going to wet himself when he sees that Blackout guy.”

* * *

Westworth eyed the three vehicles parked in the hangar they’d assembled in. He remembered Major Lennox saying that the robots could disguise themselves as different human-made vehicles. Could these be them? One was a bright, neon yellow-green Search and Rescue H2 Hummer, next to a monster of a black GMC Topkick, next to a HUGE Peterbilt Semi with a custom red-and-blue flame paint job. For robots trying to blend in, these were some eye-catching vehicle forms.

Major Lennox stood in front of the group of now eighty soldiers that hadn’t been scared off the day before. He seemed to be anticipating something, most likely their reactions. His right-hand man, Sgt. Epps, was off to the side, not even bothering to hide the big grin on his face.

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, yesterday you were all briefed on the Cybertronians and their ongoing conflict. The Autobots have assisted us in tuning many of our satellites and other monitoring technology to detect potential Decepticon activity, and when we receive an alert, we will be dispatched to wherever it’s coming from, ready to fight if it does turn out to be the enemy, or, if it’s a newly-landed Autobot, to be their first impression of humanity. In battle, you have to know what your enemy is capable of, and what your allies are capable of. That much is obvious. Failure to do so _will_ get you killed. You _will_ learn to work with the Autobots, when to stand and fight, where to shoot, and when to back off and let them handle the trickier enemies. Most of our role in battle for now will be laying down cover fire that might allow a downed Autobot to recover and get back in the fight, although with the proper training and instruction on their weaknesses, a group of humans can take down a Decepticon without Autobot help. Mission City proved that much, with Blackout acting as our subject of demonstration.” He allowed a grim grin to slip through, and Westworth remembered that that Decepticon was directly responsible for the deaths of many of his comrades. “Everyone will be armed with newly-standard-issue weapons that fire sabot rounds, as they are the only known human-made ammunition that can penetrate Cybertronian armor.”

He picked up a rifle off a nearby table and showed it to them for emphasis before setting it back down.

“Now, everyone knows that to fight together, you have to trust each other. I’m sure many of you joined to protect our planet, but how many of you are a bit unsure of working side-by-side with giant metal beings from another planet? Members of the same species as those you are fighting against? No one has to actually answer that, but I’m telling you right now that that kind of thinking _will_ get you killed. This _entire_ unit will function as a team, or we _will_ lose.”

A muted grumble came from Westworth’s right; he glanced over and saw Richards next to him, frowning and looking suspiciously at the three vehicles lined up on front of them.

“Pretty much all training situations will be done with the Autobots,” Major Lennox continued, “so I believe it’s about high time you were introduced.” With that, he patted the hood of the pickup, then stepped off to the side to join Epps, who still hadn’t lost the anticipatory grin.

Westworth had thought he’d been prepared to witness the truck transform into a large robot. He’d been completely, totally, absolutely _wrong_. His jaw dropped as the panels began to shift and the hood split open, as the many parts began moving and rearranging themselves with multi-toned clicking sounds until the truck now had arms, legs, and a head.

“Gentlemen, meet Ironhide, the Autobots’ Weapons Specialist.”

‘Ironhide’ stood at about twenty-five feet in height, had a scowling expression (assuming their facial expressions were the same as those of humans), bright blue glowing lights for eyes, and, most noticeably, what looked like a set of huge cannons mounted on his forearms. Some distant part of Westworth’s mind (the part that wasn’t going ‘OMG big effing robot!’) noted that it made sense for a Weapons Specialist to be carrying big guns.

The big black robot glared down at all of them, then snorted and turned to Lennox. “They don’t look like much,” he commented.

Okay, make that ‘OMG big effing _talking_ robot’. Of course, Westworth reflected seconds later, if they had a civilisation and a war with factions and opinions and personalities, of course they would have communicative abilities. Maybe it was the fact that Ironhide was speaking English that threw him.

Major Lennox shook his head. “Neither did we. Look how that ended for Blackout and Brawl. Or Megatron, for that matter. Of the four ‘Cons killed in Mission City, Bonecrusher was the only one that humans had no hand in killing, mainly because Optimus took him out before he got to the city proper.”

Ironhide tipped his large head in what might be an acknowledging nod. “Fair enough.”

Lennox turned back to the crowd of soldiers. “Ironhide will be the ‘Bot to oversee your training, so be nice. He’s not afraid of ordering you to run 50 laps in full combat gear, and frankly, neither am I.”

Richards groaned slightly.

“Next up,” Lennox nodded to the Hummer, which transformed into another robot, about the same height as Ironhide and with a distinct lack of cannons, “This is Ratchet, CMO of the Autobots.” Ratchet looked down at all of them, and Westworth felt a strange tingling sensation all over.

“They all seem to be in acceptable health for combat,” he grumbled, “Though one seems to be inflicted with a virus of what your human medical databases call the _‘herpesviridae’_ family.”

Westworth couldn’t suppress the snort that came, but he did resist the urge to look around and see which man was suddenly flushed red, or whatever reaction.

Lennox looked like he was fighting the urge to facepalm. “Ratchet, we’ve talked about the concept of ‘Too Much Information’. No one needs to know that except for the CMO – the _human_ CMO!”

Ratchet snorted. “I can access any medical text and definition in the average time it takes you humans to blink. I don’t see the necessity of having a human, who possesses no such ability, to be put in charge of-”

“We’ve talked about this, too. Besides, it’s not like your fingers are small enough to safely go poking around a human’s insides.” The big robot doctor glared, but seemed to accept this. Lennox turned back to the men. “As you can see, Ratchet is an expert in medicine, and while he won’t be playing doctor for us, don’t bother trying to hide anything from him that’s related to your health, because he can and will scan you to see for himself. And he does have the right to report you to a human medic if necessary.”

He then turned to the semi. “And now to introduce you to the leader of all the Autobots. Gentlemen – and ladies – I’d like you to meet… Optimus Prime.”

If Ironhide and Ratchet had been large, this guy was _huge_. Westworth and the other soldiers had to tilt their heads back as the Autobot changed into a bipedal form, standing at about forty feet. Holy hell.

“Greetings,” he said in a deep, powerful voice, “It is an honour to meet Earth’s warriors. Not many individuals, regardless of species, have the courage to put their lives on their lives in the defense of others. I am Optimus Prime.”

Westworth had never heard a voice like that. That voice spoke of age, wisdom, kindness, power, and an undefinable something that touched his core. Now he understood how Major Lennox was so certain in their new allies. He felt even more confident now that he’d made the right choice in signing up.

“Many a planet has been consumed by our war, but never have we seen a species so willing to fight alongside us. Your kind possesses a strength of heart that we Autobots are grateful for, and we are proud to call you our allies, and perhaps eventually our friends.”

* * *

The mess hall was full of chatter. After meeting the Autobots, it was lunch time, giving the new recruits an opportunity to talk about the experience.

“Did you see the size of the truck’s cannons? I’d have him next to me in a firefight any day.”

“His name’s Ironhide; I think we should be using their names instead of their vehicle modes. Remember, Major Lennox kept stressing that they’re not just machines.”

“I swear, this is like a cartoon come true. Too bad I can’t call my brother and brag about it. He’s always been a sci-fi nerd.”

“But can we trust them?” Westworth looked over to see Richards talking to Shirakawa, who was listening with one eyebrow raised. “I mean, come on, it’s their own kind that are killing us all. Why would they off a member of their own species to keep us safe?”

Shirakawa sighed. “I think you should give them more credit than that.”

“Please! How do we know they aren’t just as bad as those Decepticons?! In the end they’re _all_ Cybertronians!”

At that, Westworth snorted loudly, getting their attention. “Paranoid, aren’t you? Looks like that obstacle course test somehow missed you.”

Richards bristled. “What, you think I’m like that idiot Chase?!”

“Maybe a bit.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite hear you. Why don’t you come closer and say that again?!”

“Gentlemen!” All heads turned, not having noticed Major Lennox’s entrance. “Is there a problem? At ease,” he added to those who’d decided to stand up at attention.

“No, sir,” Westworth grumbled, giving Richards the stink-eye.

“Uh huh. Richards? My office.” The other soldier glared at Westworth as he left.

Shirakawa grumbled as he went back to his food. “You’d think people would be a little more open-minded. This _is_ the twenty-first century.”

“Some are just idiots,” Finn commented, sitting down nearby with her food.

Westworth sighed. Idiots aside, this seemed like a pretty good group. He was looking forward to this new mission, aliens and all.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> So I hope you liked that! I'm back to school in a couple days, so my posting rate is going to go way down. But here's a preview for 'Ties That Bind'!:
> 
> It became odder still as the pinprick of light in the sky grew bigger and brighter, and Diana realised it wasn't a star at all, but a sort of meteorite, crashing down to Earth.
> 
> Cool!
> 
> As it grew nearer, she sat up and gasped, seeing that it was going to land a lot closer than she'd thought. The firey ball streaked across the sky with an eerily quiet whooshing. Diana stood up just as it crashed loudly less than a mile away from her grandparents' house, touching down somewhere in the nearby forest. In the house, she could hear Grandpa complaining about his neighbours and their habit of playing with fireworks at ungodly hours.
> 
> Diana hesitated only a little before slipping on her flip-flops and snatching up a flashlight. Flicking it on, she ran across the damp grass, then up the dirt road she knew led to the forest. Dad would probably be ticked, but how often did she get to see a meteor crash site?
> 
> ...
> 
> "It talks," she murmured to herself.
> 
> The robot looked insulted by this. "Of course I can talk! It should come as more of a surprise that a squishy, primitive organic like you can speak."
> 
> Diana was a little offended by this, but she didn't want to anger the giant robot by talking back. "Oh. Okay... so... w-what's your name?"
> 
> It glared at her. "Why should I tell you?" It backed up a little, crossing its arms in a very human-like fashion.
> 
> "W-well, I can't keep calling you 'the robot' in my head all the time."
> 
> The robot paused for a second, seemingly considering this.
> 
> "My designation is Sunstreaker."
> 
> So that's it for now, but 'Ties that Bind' won't be up for another few years, at least. It's just not up at the top of my list.
> 
> Until then, Spectre out!


End file.
